


what lies between

by atonalremix



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gardens & Gardening, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Third Semester (Persona 5), Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atonalremix/pseuds/atonalremix
Summary: Afternoon tea with Haru Okumura has never been so dangerous. Not because the tea is poisoned (it's not), or because Goro took a fateful bite of castella cake (he took six) – but because the lines between the ideal and the real have begun to blur, and neither Goro nor Haru know the truth anymore.All he knows is that he has to wake Haru up, hopefully before Maruki's world takes a hold on them forever – and before outside forces define their relationship for them.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Okumura Haru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	1. the surreal

Almost overnight, Tokyo had become unrecognizable. Crowds across Shibuya had thinned to manageable levels; crime rates had dramatically fallen to an all-time low; and the very nature of the world had flipped on its axis.

Arguments had ceased to exist. All struggles had ended. Even once-packed train stations were deserted, with empty cars running across the tracks where sardine tins had once stood. Maruki had created a true fool’s paradise, full of fairytale weddings, birth announcements, endless job promotions, and thriving businesses. Such endless, blind happiness didn’t suit the world. 

Goro hated it all. He hated the invisible strings guiding each and every person he passed on his way to Kichijōji. He hated the palpable cheer in everyone’s voices, just as he hated the saccharine atmosphere in the air. The world was happy and empty, all at once. Maruki had truly, fully lobotomized everyone’s soul in creating this Abrahamic Paradise.

Worst of all: somehow, Featherman was still airing.

Goro’s stomach churned as he passed by more than a few subway ads for the 20th anniversary revival. He, of all people, had to see this garish display front and center. If he didn’t know better, Goro would’ve guessed this sick, twisted TV show revival was Maruki’s attempt at pacifying him. 

(He did know better. Maruki had no such insights into his soul. Maruki had never sat down with him in a pithy, twisted heart-to-heart conversation. Even if Maruki had tried to engage in such meaningless exercises, Goro wouldn't have allowed such foolish behavior.

Hearts were too fragile. One wrong move, and Goro’s would shatter all over again.)

The nerve of Maruki. The gall, the utter insincerity, the–

The promise of Yukari Takeba returning as Pink Argus? Takeba’s career had taken her far beyond sentai, but here she was, proudly headlining a new season as if it were a regular occurrence. Turning his entire body back towards the ad, Goro reached into his phone for some light research. A new revival, with all the best cast members… With an actual budget… Okay, maybe this one, tiny, small portion of Maruki’s disgusting gift could stay. 

“Akechi-kun?” 

Goro froze at the sound of a familiar feminine voice behind him. In Goro’s brief moment of weakness, he had allowed himself to be Seen, and by someone he had been hoping to avoid all this time–

“Okumura-san.” Goro pocketed his phone, forgoing the usual pleasantries of the Detective Prince. Such a world had no need for his mask. His voice was chilly, as he braced himself for impact– “It’s been a while.” 

“Indeed! I haven’t seen you since last year,” Haru laughed, leaning back to look at him with a rare smile upon her face.

He froze, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have exchanged such pleasantries. Yet like the other Phantom Thieves, Haru had fallen for Maruki’s lies– and like the other Thieves, she seemed to care little for her old reality. 

For one, she was smiling at Goro as if they were old schoolmates. For another, her dear departed father was still standing beside her. Or rather, her _living_ , _breathing_ father– as if he had never shuffled off the mortal coil in the first place.

“Happy New Year, Akechi-kun,” her dead father laughed, with a soft, rueful expression on his face as he stepped forward. “Why don’t you join us for some tea?”

Goro swallowed down his disgust. “I couldn’t possibly–”

“Tell us no, correct?” Haru beamed, clasping her hands together as she glanced at the two of them. “I’m so glad. It would be wonderful to have some extra company!” 

“Oh, um–” Goro blinked, feeling his entire body go numb.

He had no reason to maintain any sort of pretense. Without crime, the Detective Prince vanished into thin air– and with Shido behind bars, so too had any reason to act righteous and sincere. Goro should have turned on his heels and walked away from the farce. He also couldn’t find the energy to dismiss them, let alone their fake kindness. His heart ached at the mere thought of walking away– and that frightened him. 

The real Goro wouldn’t have let such peer pressure intimidate him. Then again, the real Goro had pulled the trigger in the first place and created all this discomfort himself, hadn’t he? 

Haru had the audacity to bridge the distance between them, gripping his hands in hers. Despite their thick gloves, her touch was soft, real, and all-too delicate. Even her eyes were twinkling with genuine warmth– as if Goro had been a true, real friend to her all this time. 

Goro flinched. Haru peered down at their hands, taking care to interlace her fingers in his. Even her cheeks were blushing a furious red– 

“Well then,” she bounced on her heels as she looked at both men, with an innocent expression that took zero prisoners. “Shall we?”

Haru led him up a set of metal stairs to a second-story cafe tucked away on a quiet side street. Prying eyes wouldn’t find them here, even if they sat on the balcony; the entire cafe was decorated in lush greenery from floor to ceiling. Plants were hung from the ceiling; bonsai stood under well-cared lights; and even a small herb garden of mint, basil, and rosemary was tucked away near the balcony. 

While Mr. Okumura ordered their drinks at the counter, Haru and Goro found a corner booth near the balcony. The street underneath them was quiet– too quiet. Then again, the neighborhood’s characteristic activity had subsided to mere whispers overnight. A side effect of Maruki’s bullshit dream magic, Goro supposed. 

“Akechi-kun?” Haru rested her hands in her lap as she followed Goro’s gaze. “Is everything alright?” 

No, not really. Goro wanted to shove her kindness down her throat and remind Haru of all the terrible deeds he had performed – to her father, no less. Someone as foul and wicked as Goro Akechi doesn’t deserve any pity, let alone sympathy, from a mental shutdown victim’s daughter. 

If she had pinned him against the wall of greenery and held the edge of her axe to his throat, he might have understood. If she had sliced his throat and ended his pitiful existence, well– he deserved such tragedy. Neither event would come to pass.

If only she were awake enough to realize the horrors of their reality. Instead, the Okumuras had taken one look at him (at the murderer who had ruined their lives) and invited him out for afternoon tea. They laughed as if they were old friends, and as if Goro’s sins had been wiped clean by the very heavens itself. 

Haru’s compassion may have been soul-deep, with an extraordinary strength that rivaled her Persona’s, but even she couldn’t have overlooked the most grievous of sins. 

Then again, the looming silence between them might be punishment enough. The ancient goddess Persephone had killed men with little more than sprigs of greenery and the promise of spring. Persephone’s name could be translated as ‘the Destroyer of Light,’ leaving little in her wake. 

He just wonders how Haru will murder him, once they’re both cognizant of this false paradise. With her axe, perhaps? Or a small, sharp fan like the one Milady carries?

“Oh,” Haru breathed, taking his silence as a tacit answer. “I’m sorry.”

Goro flinched again, turning his head to avoid her pleading gaze. They were too close. Her cloying voice only reminded him of the real dangers Maruki had so considerately neglected.

His first mistake was in accepting this invitation. His second was in accepting her presence, and in accepting a meal that would have never been offered to the real Akechi. Her smiles and laughter were strictly reserved for the other Thieves. He would forever be an outsider looking in, never quite mingling, and never really belonging. 

Perhaps that stupid, irrational sense of longing kept him here. He couldn’t otherwise imagine why he would stay. He had nothing to gain from Haru’s actions, let alone a dead-slash-somehow-living man. He should have broken from these lies so much easier, and yet the truth weighed down upon his heart. The words wouldn’t leave his throat, as if trying to bury themselves deep within him.

As Goro summoned what remained of his courage, Mr. Okumura returned with a platter– a whimsically patterned teapot and three mugs, and more than enough pastries for them to share. Goro recognized such a display from his old blog posts: a dozen different-flavored macarons, two kouign-amann, and some slices of castella. He must have photographed them dozens of times for his social media. None of those photos compared to the ones before him. Even dessert looked too delectable to eat in this world.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Goro managed to say as he reached for a slice of castella cake. If anyone should be asking for forgiveness, it should be him – but this Haru wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to listen. “You’re too kind, Okumura-san.” 

Haru blinked, sucking in a desolate breath as she stared right through Goro’s soul– “I… I don’t know if I deserve such praise.” 

“You deserve more than what you receive,” Goro remarked, finding every word true. 

He slid his gloves off as he took a bite of castella. Sweet– sickeningly so, as if the entire thing had been coated in sugar. He supposes he shouldn't have been surprised. No matter how scrumptious cake looked, cake would always be overwhelmingly sugary sweet, with little else to balance its flavor. Just to be polite, he took five more bites– enough to show gratitude, but nowhere near enough to satisfy his stomach. 

Haru’s father gave him an odd look as he poured them all cups of steaming hot black tea. “What are you two talking about?” 

As Haru poured some cream and sugar into her own teacup, she pointedly avoided Goro’s gaze. Her ears were burning a dark red as she managed to say, “Um– his latest case. You know, he works with Mako-chan’s sister sometimes? At, um, the precinct?”

Such an excuse must have been fabricated on the spot. Haru had never been particularly skilled at lying, let alone in purposefully trying to deceive other people. Yet Goro understood the olive branch she was offering– and the Detective Prince would have accepted such a generous gift with both hands. 

He didn’t see any harm in humoring her. He had made enough mistakes today; he might as well add another to his list. 

“Yes, yes… I was asking Okumura-san for her opinion,” he began, shooting Haru a grateful smile as he wrapped his hands around his teacup. “Our latest case is rather complicated. Sae-san believes it’s airtight, but I’m less certain about the finer details. Given my consultant status, I don’t want to undermine her authority. It’s… difficult, finding the right balance.” 

Mr. Okumura slumped in his seat, regarding Goro with a furrowed brow. “Undermining an adult’s authority, huh…” 

“Father?” Haru leaned forward, her brow furrowing in concern. “Is everything alright?” 

“I don’t think so.” Mr. Okumura set his food aside and reached for Goro’s free hand. Goro didn’t have time to move away – though frankly, he wasn’t sure he could refuse. “Akechi-kun, my son… I’m sorry. This won’t even begin to make up for my wrongs, I know, but...” 

Goro sucked in a desperate breath– “Sir?” 

“All this time, I had assumed an adult had been handling our rather, hm, unsavory matters. But when we found out he had sent a mere child… one my daughter’s age, at that…” 

Mr. Okumura wasn’t making any sense. Sure, his mouth was moving and tears were streaming down his face (to the concern of a very confused Haru), but the words were absurd. He was– He was saying something truly incomprehensible. He couldn’t be _apologizing_ , not to the very same man who murdered him. 

“ _Oh._ ” Goro’s body was shaking. He couldn’t think, let alone really listen to this garbage– “You really don’t–” 

“I’m so sorry,” Mr. Okumura murmured, sliding his hand into Goro’s and squeezing it tight. “You deserved so much better.”

The world must be ending, or maybe they were all dying for real, because Maruki couldn’t even manage to govern the place right and– Mr. Okumura was still holding onto his hand. His touch was warm and gentle, just like his daughter’s. Their grip was the same foreign one– filled with affection and honest-to-god _compassion_. 

Goro could feel his vision growing blurry as he peered down at their hands. In what fool’s paradise did Goro deserve ‘better?’ 

Shido may have given the order, but Goro had chosen to pull the trigger. Goro couldn’t blame puppet strings for the blood on his hands– he was just as responsible as the rest of the grand conspiracy. Mr. Okumura had nothing to apologize for. 

This world made no sense. The dead were rising from their graves; the very man he had murdered invited him out for tea; and that same man was apologizing to him, as if Mr. Okumura were remotely responsible for the blood on Goro’s hands. (If anyone should be apologizing, it should be Shido, that slimy excuse of a human being– and Shido couldn’t exactly atone when he was safely behind bars.) 

Goro recoiled back from Mr. Okumura’s touch, slapping the man’s hand back on the table. “Keep your ‘forgiveness’. I deserve no such thing.” 

What a freaking joke. Did Maruki really think Goro wanted something as twisted as forgiveness from a dead man? The very same one he murdered in cold blood, no less?

A thick, hollow laugh bubbled up from his throat. God, he must look like a mess– and people were staring at him as he slid out of their booth and started running. He could discern that much from the unsteady world around him. 

“Akechi-kun!” Haru was rising up after him, already bowing in apology to her father. “Please! Wait a minute!” 

“Don’t follow me,” he growled, bumping his shoulders up against several strangers on his way downstairs. 

Where was he going, anyway? Penguin Sniper wasn’t close enough, and the jazz club’s doors were locked at this hour. His fans liked to ambush him near the train station– Maybe he could lose her in the maze of corner shops and restaurants? 

Well, for starters, he needed to run faster. Haru was keeping an even pace with him.

Goro sprinted down the next block, weaving between random strangers and– oof. He stumbled forward, tripping on cold air and broken bricks. The streets were wet, and damp, and cold, and so, so hard.

It hurt. Everything hurt. Goro wriggled his leg, prying his foot free. Ignore the throbbing. Ignore the stubbed toe. Ignore everything. Ignore–

“Akechi-kun!” 

_Shit._ Goro forced himself up, wiping off dirt and grime off his jacket. Swerving on his heels, he ducked into a side street. The awning above the road would provide enough cover from the rain– and the ambient noise drowned out his hummingbird heartbeat.

Haru’s footsteps came to a halt before him. 

Before she could say something, Goro buried his hands in his face. “Don’t. I’m begging you, Okumura-san, don’t take another step closer.” 

“Okay.”

He paused. Okay? That was it? The real Haru wouldn’t have accepted such an order. This puppet’s compassion was almost extraordinary, and relentless– too relentless. 

“I don’t know what happened between you and Father, but…” She leapt over the sidewalk to stand beside him (well, she had literally kept her word). “I just… thought you could use a friend.”

Goro could feel his shoulders shake, but the laughs wouldn’t leave his lips. The horrible, bitter irony of this backwards world. His debts remain unpaid, and the woman who should hate him the most was watching him in a moment of fleeting weakness.

‘I killed him,’ Goro could have said. ‘I watched his soul writhe and die, and I threw your entire world into chaos, because I couldn’t face the alternative of Shido hating me.’

They certainly wouldn’t have sat face-to-face in the real world. They wouldn’t have been mere inches apart, with little to say and even littler to feel. They wouldn’t have stood together under the rain either, with the world choosing to pass them both by. 

“Friend is a strong word, Okumura-san.” Goro didn’t even try to hide the bile in his voice– though he couldn’t quite tell who he hated more: Maruki or himself. “We were never that close.”

“Because you wouldn’t let anyone get that close, Akechi-kun.”

Goro froze. How dare a fantasy of Maruki’s image tell him such a thing. How dare they reach through the depths of his soul and find the one truth he had so desperately tried to lock tighter than a bank vault? 

Ignoring his rapidfire heart, Goro pressed a hand to his chest and forced himself to breathe. He was going to be the stronger man. He was going to be the real, living human being here, no matter what Maruki thought he wanted. 

So Goro stood taller, raising his chin in defiance at her– “Funny you, of all people, would say that.” 

Truthfully, Goro had no idea if Haru harbored such doubts within her soul. Such a probing task was more suited to Amamiya. Their ragtag leader knew which buttons to press and which to ignore. Goro knew nothing of Haru, let alone of the dreams and fears she hid behind her smile. He also couldn’t bring himself to learn anything more about her. 

Learning would be caring, and he was too tired to care. 

“That is exactly why I’m saying it now,” Haru pushed back, stepping to the side so that they were now face to face. “It hurts so much, always feeling on edge, like you can’t really trust anyone or anything. Even now, you probably don’t trust me– and that’s okay. You don’t have to, not right away.”

Goro couldn’t help the disgusted noise that escaped his lips. “Because you’re so kind and innocent yourself.”

A dark, dangerous expression crossed Haru’s face as she looked down at their hands– “I wouldn’t go that far, Akechi-kun. I know you’re hurting, so… what do you need? Right now?” 

“I don’t know what I need,” Goro found himself saying, as his throat grew dry and heavier. The dream world knew enough of his secrets; surely it didn’t need to know this one too. “No, that’s– that’s a lie. I know what I need.”

“Which is?” 

Goro swallowed, looking down at his trembling, soiled hands. “For all of you to hurry up and _wake up_ already.” 

She was blurry like an impressionist painting, all smudges and dots and no clarity whatsoever– the whole world was, really. Maruki’s dreams were as illusory as Édouard Manet’s brushstrokes: real and tangible from a distance, only to disappear into smears and smudges up close. 

Of all the fantasies harbored by Phantom Thieves, Haru’s hurt the most. While Goro’s mistakes had come undone, Haru’s childish wishes were all too similar to the old, tired dreams Goro had once harbored in the depths of his heart. Haru was – Haru was more like him than he wanted to believe. 

“Wake up?” Haru was asking him, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

This line of questioning was pointless. As long as Maruki pulled her strings, Haru couldn’t talk or think for herself. Any comfort she brought him would be short-lived and temporary. It wouldn’t come from her heart. It wouldn’t be real. 

His judgment must have wavered. His entire brain was on the fritz, and Goro just wanted to stop _thinking_ already. Caving to temptation, and all lack of common sense, Goro leaned on Haru’s shoulder and let himself fall limp at her side. 

“Nothing,” he murmured. “You wouldn’t get it anyway.” 

She could murder him with her axe whenever she woke up– assuming this would be a ‘when,’ not an ‘if’. 

“You’re so strange, Akechi-kun,” Haru’s voice echoed in his ears as he drifted off to sleep, “But you’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He woke up in an unfamiliar room– and a girl’s room at that, from the looks of that white vanity table and floral mirror cover.

Goro doesn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed. Honestly, he doesn’t remember being whisked halfway across town, let alone tucked into bed with a thick comforter thrown over his weary bones. He also doesn’t remember the last time someone else _bothered_ to care for him in such a manner. 

He forced himself to sit up, pulling the comforter around him. The bedroom was simple yet elegant– green walls, a vanity table with dozens of make-up and perfume bottles across from the bed, and a coffee table with fresh flowers to his left. There was a balcony with glass doors to the left, and– Haru standing by a row of potted plants and picking one up with her hands. 

The tomato fruits brushing against her sleeves were tiny and green; not quite ready to sprout. Her other carrot and root vegetable plants were in similar states of growth: young and budding, slowly blossoming out of their roots. A small greenhouse was nestled to the left of the balcony, filled with rows and rows of ripening tomatoes. Despite their small size, her plants were rich and bountiful. 

Rising from the bed, Goro opened the door and followed Haru outside into the middle of the tomatoes. The cold air hit him in full force– he shivered, pulling the sleeves over his hands. They lacked the warmth of his usual gloves, but they would have to do for now. 

“You’re awake!” Haru called as she rushed to his side, setting the potted plant down on the floor. She was smiling at him, for some reason– “How’re you feeling?” 

“Could be better.” Goro paused, glancing down at the dirt smeared across her fingernails. “Why did you bring me here?”

“You weren’t feeling well… and um, my room was the only one ready. We haven’t had guests over in a long time,” Haru’s cheeks turned a faint red, even as the edges of her eyes crinkled in unspoken delight. 

“No, I mean – why did you bring me into your home? You could have dropped me off at my apartment, or Leblanc, or any other number of places. You didn’t have to return _here_ , let alone let me rest in your bedroom.” 

“Oh.” Haru’s expression softened. “Because… well, that’s what friends do for each other.”

Now that was a title he didn’t deserve. Goro had done nothing to earn Haru’s trust, let alone inner strength– and whenever she wakes up (because it will be a when), she will actually murder him with the axe sitting next to her firewood.

In Mementos, Haru had idly mentioned chopping her own firewood – and wielding an axe in battle because of her past experience with such hearty work. At the time, Goro thought her remarks pretentious. Now, with that very axe lying nearby, he reconsidered the insult. 

This woman could chop him down before finishing her morning cup of tea, and the world would not mourn him. Not even Amamiya– and frankly, Goro found Amamiya’s sentiments rather foolish. 

“–an extra room, down the hall.” Haru was saying, tilting her head at him. “If you’re alright with staying the night?” 

Of course he wasn’t! This world was trying to railroad him into some weird, twisted _friendship_ with the last person who wanted such a bond to connect them. Goro couldn’t possibly linger here. More importantly, his clothes were– hanging off a hanger on the other side of her room? 

Goro squinted at his uniform blazer, then peered back down at the oversized pajama sleeves hanging off his arms. Sometime ago, he must have been dressed in these thick cotton PJs– and they must have been Mr. Okumura’s. 

One more reason to leave, really. He was wearing a dead man’s clothes, and he just wanted to shower, and change, and get _out_ of this nightmare before he pilfered any more of a dead man’s wardrobe. 

“One of my servants helped me change you into something more comfortable. It was for your benefit, I assure you,” Haru squeaked, as her entire face turned redder than her tomato plants. “So, please... don’t worry. I uh, I didn’t see anything!” 

Goro choked on empty air. 

“They’re nice and dry if you want to change,” Haru added, her voice growing thicker and drier as she turned back towards the sliding door. “So um, I’ll–”

“Thank you.” Goro bowed his head in a rare show of deference. “I apologize for the inconvenience this must’ve been.” 

Despite all his efforts, he couldn’t bring himself to break the Prince act. He had little reason to continue the charade, yet he _wanted_ to acknowledge her presence. He didn’t understand why, either. 

Haru Okumura hated him. The second she found her way back to reality, she would abhor him – and she would hold this kidnapping over his head as the illicit blackmail it really was. Even if technically, Goro was the one being held against his will. 

Haru sputtered. “Oh, it really wasn’t anything–”

“I’m serious.” Goro’s heart was beating like a hummingbird, but he couldn’t tell what had spurred on the adrenaline– Haru’s inevitable murderous rage, the dangerous fire he’s kindling, or perhaps even both. “You’ve already done too much for me, Okumura-san.” 

“In that case… would you call me Haru?”

Goro snapped to full attention, peering at Haru as if she'd grown another head. “What?” 

“We’re the same age, Akechi-kun. You don’t have to be so formal with me.” 

Another one of Maruki’s machinations. Their age and false dreams aside, they shared startlingly little in common. Goro didn’t see the point in humoring this marionette with Haru’s name and personality. Any such agreement would be false, short-lived, and the quickest way towards his untimely demise. That axe was shiny, and pointed, and it most assuredly had his name written in cold blood.

Taking his silence as a tacit refusal, Haru frowned. “You’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” 

“So are you,” Goro found himself countering as he too turned towards the door. “I already told you, Okumura-san. We aren’t friends. We’re not going to be, either, once you see this world for what it really is.” 

“You keep saying that, but I don’t know what you mean!” Haru puffed her cheeks up like a blowfish, and honestly– if she weren’t so mad, it might’ve been kind of cute. “I _want_ to be your friend, Akechi-kun! Can’t you acknowledge that much?”

“I would believe in Joker being so foolish.” Goro clicked his tongue in disapproval, brushing past her shoulder to hold onto the door handle. “He always made a big deal out of nothing– but not you, Okumura. It would make all of this easier if you properly hated me.” 

“By what, letting you wallow in self-pity and your stupid self-inflicted misery forever?” 

Goro swerved on his heels, feeling his shoulders hunch up– “Excuse me?”

This puppet knew nothing of Goro’s life. She was born from Maruki’s machinations and Haru’s own fantasies – and little of the real woman who had accompanied him into Sae’s Palace. If the world was Maruki’s stage, then Haru was apparently a player in some tragic romance, and both were trying to pigeon hole Goro into a role he couldn’t possibly perform. To hell with expectations and masks. He was shedding them all here and now. 

Yet Haru bridged the distance between them, pressing Goro up against the wall– against the cold glass– with her fluffy head of hair barely reaching his chest. She was tiny, almost as fragile as the tomato flowers she grew. 

“You heard me,” she insisted, with a steel glare. “You’re the only one who thinks I hate you. It’s the opposite, actually.”

She was way too close. Her hair smelled of sweet roses and strawberries– her shampoo, probably. The fragrance overwhelmed his senses. She was sickeningly soft and warm, even this close to cold, thick air. Their breaths were intermingling– as if they were one.

This was a _dream_. Bullshit Maruki magic, with nothing substantial or solid– even then, his heart wouldn’t stop racing. His palms were sweaty, despite the chills running down his spine, and everything felt so, so very hot. 

“Why…” Goro swallowed, ignoring the new lumps in his throat. “Why do you keep saying that?” 

“Because you didn’t hear it the first time.” Haru blinked, pushing down on him even further. Bravery knew no gender, or perhaps _stupidity_ knew no gender. “Or the second, or the third, I suppose…”

“Because it’s wrong–” 

“We’re _friends_ , Goro-kun. You’re important to me, even if you keep trying to pretend otherwise.” 

His heart ached. Oh, how desperately he wished that he had fled that afternoon from Persephone’s greenery and sunlight– he wasn’t the object of Haru’s affections, let alone for whom anyone she should hold any sort of fondness. If anyone held that precious, sacred spot, it was their reckless leader Amamiya, not Goro. It would never be Goro. 

_You will remember the truth someday, and you will hate me_ , he wanted to remind her. 

Instead, Haru stood up on her tiptoes, pulled Goro towards her, and pressed her lips to his. 

She was– she was kissing him! His first real kiss, and it was with her! In a dream world, no less! 

Her lips were soft and warm, negating the cold air altogether. Her nose brushed up under his, and her face was starting to smush into his after a while. Haru wasn’t even coming up for air. It was as if the very nature of their relationship were all peachy-dory. As if he deserved to be here, his heart pressed up against hers, with Haru’s soft, dainty fingers holding onto his cheeks for dear life. 

Goro pulled back, gauging her face for any semblance of sanity, or perhaps a brain in her fluffy head– “Haru-san?” 

“Um– I–” she laughed, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her entire face was beet-red– “I know, um, I should apologize… again…. but I also… kind of don’t want to…”

“You like me?” 

Maybe he sounded like a broken record of questions, but he needed to understand her confession. She had to spell each and every word for him. No room for doubt. Surely bullshit magic could understand that much. 

She gave a demure nod, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Yes… did-did I not make it obvious enough?” 

“Painfully obvious,” he had to admit, despite his entire brain feeling like it was on fire, “But you’re– why me?” 

Why him, out of everyone else in this wide, vast universe? Fearless Amamiya or reckless Sakamato should have been higher on her list. Hell, even the oblivious Kitagawa would be more understandable. Those imbeciles were far more endearing to a general populace (to the friends who knew them, personally) than a discarded prince. If Haru was a silly fangirl chasing after her celebrity idol, he might have understood such a sentiment. He would have hated her words, but he would've understood them. The internet adored the Detective Prince, after all. They gushed about the righteous, sincere young man who stood for justice and abhorred the blatant evil running around their world. 

Haru, on the other hand, had never shared such delusions. She saw through every single lie he offered, all without saying a single word to his face. Such sentiments weren't charity, or even pity– so why? How did she come to this stupid conclusion?

“Because.” Haru blinked, staring at him as if he were speaking a foreign language– “You’re far kinder than you want to admit, Akechi-kun. If you were truly so abhorrent, you wouldn’t keep everyone at an arm’s distance. You _care_ about other people.”

“You have to be kidding me.” 

“I’m completely serious.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. For the first time, Goro sees weary exhaustion– and a hint of exasperation, which feels even more foreign than her touch. Her eternal patience must be whittling down into nothing, all because of him and his broken questions. 

Goro had to press further– “So you what, wanted to suck my face because you think I’m kind?” 

He didn’t understand her one bit. Choosing someone because of his two-faced compassion? Because he kept pushing her away out in some show of false consideration? She really must be living in some shitty shoujo manga, where grand gestures of love redeemed even the most asinine of protagonists. Nevermind their past sins, or their utter stupidity, or even the blood on their hands. Love redeemed all, with no acknowledgment of what came before. Nothing else– not even Maruki's bullshit fantasy overrides– explained her persistence.

“N-not just that,” she pouted, peering intently at his pajama lapels and smoothing them down. “You're driven, and full of willpower. You fight for what you believe in, even when the whole world seems to be against you. You're... decisive, and I can't help admiring that.”

Now he had to be imagining things. The real Haru wouldn’t dream of such words, let alone holding him so close– and yet this messed-up, false excuse of a Haru thought he was decisive? Driven? Full of purpose and willpower?? What a sick, twisted joke. His heart was going to burst, and it was all going to be Haru’s fault– or maybe his own, for staying so long at her side. All because he wanted to linger (with _her_ ) in the middle of her garden.

If he were truly decisive, he would have acted upon his instincts and left her presence. If he had her illusory willpower, he would have told her just how foolish her words were. If he– if he were any smarter, he wouldn't have gotten into this mess in the first place. Her affection was overwhelming. Everything about her overwhelmed him, really.

Remember: the real Haru Okumura would hold no pity, let alone real comfort for him. He would be a true fool to take advantage of such a fantasy where neither of them had any sort of free will. 

“Truly?” So he stepped aside, letting his arms fall to his side. “Is this what you really want?”

“Of course.” Haru blinked back in surprise. “Do you… not like me, Goro-kun?” 

“Of course I like you back!” His words slipped before he could really think them through, and he could feel himself grasping at thin air as he gestured at her– “How could anyone _not_ like you? You’re thoughtful, and strong-willed, and recklessly compassionate to utter imbeciles. You keep buying ramune for Sakamoto and telling him it’s because you have extra, but you didn’t even know how to open the bottle, so I know it’s not because you actually like the stuff. Or when Amamiya needed bandaids and you conveniently had some in his favorite brand and color?”

He would regret this in the morning. Goro Akechi was nothing if composed and collected, and he was throwing his entire reputation away at the feet of a mockery of the woman he knew–

“That was just–” Haru coughed, ignoring her beet-red face. “I happened to have extra on hand…” 

“You _always_ have extra.” How was Haru so blind? Not just to her own actions, but her impact upon others? Goro’s voice rose as he pointed a finger at her, “You give so much of yourself to others that I kind of wonder if you’ve ever left some over for yourself!” 

She froze, staring back at him with abject horror. He had crossed a line. Not even the talking cat dared to cross such a boundary, and the cat practically got away with saying whatever came to its mind.

Goro wasn’t going to apologize, either. Only the real Haru deserved those sorry excuses for his actions. The puppet could live with the shame of her infinite compassion, and her inability to give herself the same care she gave everyone else. This world was hanging by a single red thread, and he wasn't going to stick around and watch it unravel into a million torn shreds.

“...You should be kinder to yourself,” he murmured, sliding the balcony door open and rushing to grab his school uniform. “Your heart’s more valuable than you think, Okumura-san. Don’t give it away so easily– and especially not to those who don’t deserve it.” 

As he hastily changed back into his regular clothes, he didn’t dare look back. He knew that if he did, he would’ve found himself falling deeper into a world from which he could never, ever return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks as always to Jay and Steph for their editing; their love and hard work has meant so, so much to me over the years. 
> 
> This fic was written for the Goro Big Bang event, and as such, I hope you all give all of the wonderful art and fic from this event a chance! Everyone's worked so hard on their pieces, and I'm so excited to see just what is in store for everyone. As always, kudos and comments are super appreciated.


	2. the liminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru's forgetting something pretty important to her, but she can't quite say what it is...

Well, that had certainly been an awkward confession. Haru wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, deep down– a kiss in return, maybe? Some tangible sign of Goro-kun’s affection, or at the very least, verbal confirmation that he didn’t totally hate her?

She had heard the latter, but at the cost of Goro walking out the door forever. Her chest tightened as she heard the door slam. 

He didn’t even stay for dinner. This big, lonely house was empty once again, with only her and–

Father was here too, wasn’t he? Father had accompanied her to afternoon tea, and Father had helped her carry Goro into her room. While he had been awfully busy with work lately, he had always made time for her. He was the ideal, caring father she had always longed for. 

Goro’s quiet, uncertain voice beckoned in her head, _“Is this what you want?”_

Visions of a press conference flashed before her, where Father was kneeling over in front of dozens of cameras. His eyes went dark as black blood flowed out of his mouth. His pale, cold body had stood before all of Japan and–

Father was still alive, wasn’t he? Father had just teased her about her so-called male friends, and he had insisted on Haru sharing the full story over tonight’s dinner. Father was a constant, unwavering presence in her life– and her strongest, most loving supporter. Grandfather would have been proud of the man Father had become. 

She wanted to keep supporting Father, and to become a heiress that would make her family proud. She wanted a kind, caring boyfriend like Goro. She wanted someone who wasn’t a disgusting, pigheaded creep like Sugimura– 

Sugimura? Why was she thinking about that politician’s son at a time like this? Haru hadn’t crossed paths with him in several months, either. Not beyond… something she was forgetting, somehow… 

A sudden chill ran down her spine. Haru’s empty bedroom seemed so much chillier now, with little warmth or care for its lone inhabitant. Really, she was getting worked up over nothing. Her brain must’ve been playing tricks on her.

“Goro-kun didn’t mean that,” Haru repeated to herself, rubbing her arms as she pulled a blanket around her shoulders. “I have no complaints about my life. Everything is as it should be, if not more…”

Maybe she needed some fresh air. The chilly air from her balcony would invigorate her, or at least ground her in the present. 

Haru slid the balcony open and stood between rows of ripe, red tomato plants. Odd– they had been small and green this afternoon. Yet the tomatoes before her were a brilliant, gorgeous red. They shone like small rubies under the city lamplights. Her little treasures– fully ripe and red.

She knelt down and picked one, rubbing the dirt off on her sleeve before taking that first juicy bite. Its juices dribbled down her fingertips. It lacked the acidity in most commercial-grade tomatoes, but contained far more flavor than her older heritage varieties. It was bittersweet, somehow. 

A long time ago, Haru dreamed about such tomatoes, but she hadn’t considered herself capable of growing something so wonderful with her own two hands. 

“I should show Goro-kun. He was right about me all along,” she murmured, before remembering just what she had done to him. 

Perhaps she should just take a camera picture and hold onto the good news. Such a bittersweet promise could wait until morning.

Read at 8:30AM. No reply or acknowledgement of the gardening victory Haru had reaped with her own hands.

Haru wasn’t exactly surprised. After their last disastrous meeting, she would have ignored herself for such a bold, selfish display of one-sided affection. Or at least paused all incoming messages until she determined how to best rebuff such advances– but it didn't stop her heart from sinking into the Earth anyway.

After a quiet, uneasy breakfast, Father surprised her with a Kichijōji site visit. After they bundled up in their thick coats, they traveled by car to several buildings for rent, where Father pointed out each building’s architecture and potential improvements for interior decor. As he gushed about one particular spot’s smart use of space and its lofty windows, she couldn’t help staring at the cafe next door. 

Haru could still imagine the horror on Goro’s face as she led him up the rickety stairs into Persephone’s space– and the quiet sobs that had escaped his lips when Father apologized to him. 

He had been crying that whole afternoon. In mere seconds, the strong Prince became a shadow of his former self, with only tears and sorrow to show the world. Haru had chased after him in hopes that she could share his pain– or at least carry it long enough for him to breathe again. Yet he had refused to let go of that primal, deep-seated hurt. It must have been knotted into the very fabric of his personality and experiences. 

For one, Goro kept calling this world a nightmare. For another, he had rejected her _despite_ liking her back. She didn’t love herself enough, he said. She needed to close her heart a little more to others, he said. 

“He was lashing out, wasn’t he? Because he’s afraid of opening his heart up again,” she realized, with a soft sigh. “Someone terrible must’ve hurt him, a long, long time ago.” 

As she turned back towards Father’s new building, she forced herself to find the positives. The building was in a wonderful location with impressive foot traffic. Past market research indicated that the community preferred high-quality ingredients and modern interiors, so their next store could focus on organic produce, and differentiate itself from Persephone by selling more savory and filling dishes. They could use less green space– 

“Haru?” An uncertain, quiet male voice called from behind her. 

“Oh!” Haru couldn’t hide her delight as she turned to face her friend– “Ren-kun! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t exactly sure how Ren Amamiya spent his weekends. Mako-chan had once said that his schedule was unpredictable, and his patterns equally impossible to determine. Certainly, he made time for his friends– but Haru couldn’t tell just how many part time jobs Ren held, let alone extracurriculars outside of their friend group. Some weeks, Ren was helping elderly ladies find their perfect flower bouquets; others, he was dishing up ramen or ringing up purchases at Triple Seven. 

Mona was much easier to find, which was almost ironic because Mona was a _cat_. Wait, no, Mona was human, wasn’t he? Why did she think, for a fleeting moment, that he wasn’t human…

Given the rare occasion, Haru wanted to invite Ren for a cup of coffee or some light conversation. Yet Ren seemed to stare through the fiber of her very being as he asked questions identical to the ones Goro-kun had forced upon her– was she truly happy in this world? What were her next steps? Father was her ideal person, wasn’t he? 

Ren’s stare was almost calculating, too. He seemed to know something she didn’t– and he wasn’t going to take any uncertainty for an answer.

She hadn’t thought Ren capable of such piercing questions, let alone hurtful implications. He had always been such a sweet, quiet underclassmen at Shujin. Not once had Haru imagined that he would probe into her soul, let alone inquire about the fears and doubts she tried so hard to bottle inside. 

Yet all she could do was wave her friend off with a nervous laugh and pretend that everything was fine. 

Nothing was wrong. She hadn’t kissed Goro last night; the boy she liked certainly hadn’t rejected her; and Ren-kun had most definitely not seen through her soul and laid it bare for everyone to see. The world was perfect and ideal, and the world was exactly as she wanted it to be. Or it _was_ perfect, right up until the two most important boys in her life decided to question every little thread and tug on them until they unraveled.

Haru's fingers lingered a little longer on her instant messages. All she wanted to do was message Mako-chan or one of their other friends, or at least get a third opinion on how bizarre and empty her life was becoming. Maybe they, too, were forgetting something awfully important to the very core of their being. Maybe Mona really was a small cat with a yellow bandana, or maybe Haru longed for someone like Goro because of her past experiences with Sugimura, or maybe–

“Haru?” Father was calling out towards her, with a newfound sense of urgency in his voice. “We should take a break. I’m sure you’re tired from all this surveying.” 

“Yes, Father.” Haru didn’t look up from her phone as she began a rapidfire string of texts. All she could do now was hope and pray that her messages would be read, at least just this once– “I’ll be right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're switching POVs here for the foreseeable future! Nothing big to note; odd chapters will be Goro's POV while even chapters will be our lovely lady Haru's! 
> 
> Also, I've marked this fic as four chapters in total - but that may change depending on how things shake up in the next couple of chapters, so please bare with me a little longer as I eke out the rest of this story. As always, comments and kudos are loved, and I may have not caught every mistake, so let me know if anything seems out of place.


	3. the imaginary

Haru had sent him fifteen texts over the course of a single day. At first, Goro had ignored the incoming alerts – more for his sanity than for the incoming pain she would have inflicted, really. Then the messages just wouldn't stop coming. 

First, she sent a picture of her tomatoes. Harmless, if somewhat terrifying with their overnight color change. Then she had sent a picture of _him_ standing amongst those tomatoes– in school uniform, no less. No dead man’s pajamas in sight; no drenched rain in the background. Eyes closed, head full, heart wide open– as if he were the one with the magical green thumb. 

The world was coming together and falling apart, all at once. Goro could feel the knots unraveling in his eternally-churning stomach. He couldn’t be the young man in this photo; this young man seemed more at peace with the world. This young man was even more of an illusion than Haru– and that was saying something, considering Goro’s current state. He couldn’t focus. Not on his phone, not on those stupid tomatoes, and most certainly not on the woman making his entire life hell. 

She had sent him more messages in the interim; he ignored each and every one of them. He didn’t have the time, or the luxury really, to answer such a dream. 

While he was busy ignoring Haru’s messages, Goro was also earning the world’s most slapdash Ph.D. on all things Takuto Maruki. The man’s height, birthday, blood type, college major, notable mentors, social media usernames, and somehow, top five movies of all-time lived in Goro’s brain rent-free. Luckily (or perhaps unfortunately), the blithe, blissful idiot had left his entire life story online for anyone to peruse – and that was _before_ Goro had thought to type Maruki’s name into Pubmed.

A normal, rational person would call Amamiya and deliver the useless knowledge via telephone. A smarter man would maintain the stiff distance between them. After all, they were only collaborating to undo the illusions Maruki had woven into this world. Their mere friendship was a transaction; nothing of substance, no matter how much Amamiya tried to pretend otherwise.

Yet Goro found himself arriving at Leblanc rather late at night, long after owner Sojiro Sakura left. The overwhelming scent of roasted coffee greeted Goro long before the soft music of the door chime– some South American blend, maybe? The beans were strong-bodied, permeating every nook and cranny of the cozy space. Amamiya was sitting behind the counter, pencil tucked behind his ear as he finished a crossword puzzle. 

Part of Goro felt bad for interrupting such a peaceful, mundane night. Part of Goro also didn’t care enough– Amamiya had intruded upon enough of Goro’s life. It was high time Goro did the same.

The young man glanced up in the direction of the door, blinking back mild surprise as he realized just who was standing there– “You have information on Maruki, right? You could’ve just called.”

“I felt like having a cup of coffee first, ”Goro smiled through his teeth. “Humor me.”

He swung his legs over the middle barstool and leaned forward, watching Amamiya abandon his crosswords and begin to brew a cup of pour over coffee. The old, quiet cafe didn’t believe in fancy espresso machines – a narrow spout and timer seemed to be all they needed. Given the quality of their brews, Goro silently agreed with them. 

“How many shots do you want in your latte?” Amamiya reached for a glass of milk, beginning to froth it into thick foam with a handheld frother.

Goro leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter– “Two. Make them as strong as possible.”

Amamiya pressed his lips together, not even bothering to look up from his attempt at latte art. His silent judgment (and loud attempts at art) said enough.

Despite the concern radiating from every fiber of Amamiya’s being, he also exuded comfort behind the counter. Over these past few months, Leblanc had become a second home for the Phantom Thieves– and Amamiya, as their ring leader, had taken center stage as Leblanc’s top barista. His movements became so much more fluid and graceful, too; he was beginning to feel as if he had become one with the coffee beans. 

Goro could still recount the sloppy foam shapes he had gotten this summer– and how Amamiya’s foam art had evolved from sloppy circles into nauseating hearts and domino masks. Each latte and cappuccino was a work of art, as Kitagawa might have proclaimed. They tasted damn good, too. Worth every one of Goro’s hard-earned yen. 

“Says the guy who asked for two espresso shots at 9PM.” Amamiya let out a low, slow whistle as he slid the mug across to Goro. “Don’t blame me if you’re up all night.” 

A white phantom mask sat in the middle of the mug; a smooth, almost taunting one in the shape of Joker’s domino mask. Goro wasn’t even sure why he was surprised. Amamiya’s practice was finally paying off.

“That would be the goal.” Goro blew on the cup, taking that first sip and savoring its bitter warmth. “How has your end of our bargain been holding up? Any luck with your friends?”

“They’ll come around.” Amamiya tugged on his hands, as if he were reaching for the edges of invisible gloves. His fingers reached for fabric, settling on the edge of his sleeves. “I know they will.” 

“So who did you talk to today? Niijima-san? Or perhaps it was Haru-san?”

Amamiya tilted his head in confusion– “Since when were you two on such familiar terms?” 

Goro swallowed, resisting the urge to cough. “Since never, Amamiya.” 

“Uh-huh…” 

Sometimes, Amamiya was a little too perceptive. He noticed odd out-of-place threads and tugged on them until everything unraveled at his fingertips, like a stray cat pouncing upon its prey. In most cases, such astute observations worked in the Thieves’ favor. In this one particular instance, however, Goro wished Amamiya’s brain hadn’t kicked into high gear. 

An uneasy, awkward silence threatened to overtake the cafe as Goro took a long sip. The inane chatter of the TV behind them droned on– some dumb cop show about Detective Katsuya Suou and the cases he unraveled, and how even the toughest of detectives were stumped sometimes. (At least it wasn’t about his predecessor Naoto Shirogane. Goro wasn’t sure he could stomach the additional guilt.) 

“Maruki’s been researching ‘the treatment of patients through changes in their cognition’ since his college years,” Goro finally admitted, in a desperate attempt to drown out the stupid TV and the even stupider silence. “You knew that, I’m sure– but I uncovered a few of his publications this week. I brought the abstracts with me, in case they’ll be of any use towards our infiltration.”

“His… publications?” 

“Yes. He was given authorship on a few major publications when he was in college – one of them was even in Nature, the world’s leading science journal. Admittedly, I haven’t had much of a chance to read them yet.” 

On account of Haru Okumura and her incessant messages. The woman didn’t need text messages to haunt his memories, of course. Her empty, tired smile was impossible to forget– and even harder to block out of his memory. Between Maruki’s hopelessly optimistic social media posts and Okumura’s photos, Goro wasn’t sure which was worth– both? Had to be both. They each sucked in their own unique, dangerous ways.

“I see.” Amamiya poured himself a cup, focusing on the shape of the foam in his own latte– “‘Cause you’ve been spending time with ‘Haru-san’, huh?” 

Goro spat out his drink. 

“Knew it.” Amamiya’s voice grew smug, like a stray cat catching a canary– “So something _did_ happen the other day.” 

“Not what you’re imagining. Get your mind out of the gutter.” Goro was going to regret this, just as he regretted the numerous mistakes he made at Haru Okumura’s feet– “She invited me out for tea. With her very alive father.” 

Amamiya froze, spilling precious drops of hot coffee onto the counter. “What?”

“You heard me.” Goro sighed, leaning forward and dabbing the stain with some spare napkins. Honestly, this man was far clumsier than one would have expected of a great Phantom Thief, let alone a ragtag group of misfits’ fearless leader. “If that doesn’t win an award for most awkward afternoon of the year, I’m not sure what would.” 

Of all the people in the universe, Amamiya most understood his predicament. Amamiya was the only one who remembered Mr. Okumura’s death– and the only one to recognize the absurdity of Mr. Okumura’s continued existence. Worse still, Goro could never quite temper his emotions around Amamiya. 

Maybe it was the two shots of espresso (and counting– because he was going to go for a third), or the soft concern written all over Amamiya’s face, but Goro didn’t feel like bottling up his secrets for much longer. 

“Lunch with Wakaba Isshiki is probably a close second. Not that I could really imagine what that mess must’ve been like,” Amamiya murmured, glancing towards the empty booths. 

“No, but you’re the only other one awake in this nightmare.” Goro had to admit with some remorse. “I wouldn’t wish such a world on my worst enemy.” 

“So… what happened afterwards?” 

A dangerous question. Amamiya couldn’t have possibly known that he was inadvertently opening Pandora’s Box, but Goro couldn’t fathom why the guy cared so much. Feelings and emotions were reserved for other people– for those who could afford the luxuries of trifling love and affection. Then again, Amamiya not only hoarded such luxuries, but he held them in the highest regard. Perhaps caring and loving were the same in the idiot's eyes.

Goro had two choices, both of which would lower Amamiya’s trust: he could lie, or he could tell the unvarnished truth. Neither option boded well.

“She kept apologizing to me,” Goro began, choosing his words carefully as he peered into his half-empty mug. “I should be the one groveling at her feet, really. _I_ fucked her over.” 

“She also doesn’t remember what you did,” Amamiya had to point out. “You said it yourself - my friends are stuck in this version of reality. Their actions aren’t their own right now.”

Goro shook his head. “I blame myself, Amamiya. If I hadn’t faltered, then I wouldn’t have left myself in such a dangerous position. I should’ve rejected her invitation from the very beginning.” 

Just like he had rejected everyone else’s invitations, regardless of origin. Lofty positions of power like television producers, board directors, or local politicians no longer mattered to Goro. Such invitations had invisible strings and future favors attached– and Goro had fallen into Haru’s unwitting trap like a dumb marionette. Funny thing was, Haru wasn’t even trying to ensnare him. She probably never would.

Amamiya folded his arms, humming in contemplation– “But you wanted to stay?”

“Of course I did.” Goro gripped the mug tighter, almost as if it were a security blanket. “But such a request would have been selfish. I threw her world into chaos. I’m the _last_ person she would want to see.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to tell Amamiya about the kiss, let alone how the sweet taste of Haru’s lips still lingered in his memory. Okumura, of all people, had taken his first kiss– and left him wanting more. The bitter irony, he supposed; he hated all sweets except the one Haru had offered to him. The one she would never, ever offer once she remembered the real world.

Such a request would be cruel and selfish. The choice would be hers in the end. Not her father’s, not Maruki’s, and most definitely not Goro’s. She deserved a real world, full of free will and decision; not one chosen carefully beforehand for her– even if it was one closer to Goro’s fantasies. No, _especially_ because it was closer to fantasy.

Amamiya blinked, glancing up from his mug. “You’ve never cared about that kind of thing before.”

Goro let out a low, bitter laugh– “Not like the rest of you seem to care about how much you rely on her. She’s _way_ too kind for her own good.”

“Huh.” Amamiya turned his entire body towards Goro. “Maybe I’m hearing things, but it kind of sounds like… you like her? Like, you like-like her?”

He said it so simply. Water was wet, the sky was blue, and Goro Akechi had a big, fat crush on Haru Okumura. Like a real relationship was a possibility, no matter what bloodstains remained on Goro's hands– or what sins remained on Goro's ledger. Like her love would redeem him, or like he would return to the real world with a clean, fresh slate. Like Haru Okumura would _like him back_ , once all was said and done.

“Of course not.” Goro grimaced, narrowing his eyes in Amamiya’s direction. “Get that illogical thought out of your head, Amamiya.” 

“No way. You’re melting into a puddle right in front of my eyes. Like a big, fat, _lovesick_ –”

Goro kicked the edge of the counter in frustration. “Maybe I just have to knock some common sense into your stupid brain!!” 

Amamiya was laughing as he took off his glasses and wiped the dust from them with the edge of his shirt– “You’ve got it really bad, huh?” 

“Of course not. I don’t– Ugh!” Goro buried his head in his hands, wondering just when the Earth would decide to swallow him whole. Surely bullshit illusion magic could end his miserable life, couldn’t it? “I don’t know. It’s– it’s not up to me. It's not like it'll ever happen.” 

“I mean…” Amamiya was still laughing, the utter bastard. “You’ve got a point. Once Haru remembers everything, you've got a _lot_ of groveling to do first.”

“She’ll murder me before that. Probably with her axe, but most likely with a vial of poison tucked under her sleeve. Coarsely ground from her plants, of course–”

“Ha!” Amamiya cackled. “Let me stop you right there. Haru doesn’t grow poisonous plants. I should know. I helped her grow ‘em.”

Goro peered up at Amamiya between his fingers. “She may not plant them at Shujin, but her home garden’s a different story.”

Surely Amamiya had seen the bounty on Haru’s balcony before, or at the very least, liked her pictures on social media. After all, Haru had always looked at Amamiya as if their fearless Leader had hung every single star in the universe. She worshipped the very ground on which Amamiya walked. She may have never voiced her fledgling crush out loud, but her burning cheeks and awkward stutters had said enough. 

Haru would have shown him her safe haven, wouldn’t she? Hell, she had sent Goro three whole pics of ripening tomatoes, with a few other choice plants in the background of her shots. And Goro had explicitly rejected Haru’s advances, with zero room for doubt or error! 

“It is?” Amamiya furrowed his brow as he asked– “When did you see her garden?” 

“The same day we had afternoon tea. Haru-san’s really made the most of her space out there.” Goro’s expression softened at the memory of her face – of the dirt beneath her fingernails, and the tenacious tomatoes growing in a climate that was ill-suited to their temperaments. “She must be trying to feed a whole army. She had tomatoes, carrots, traditional root vegetables, and of course, there’s the wisterias in her backyard. _That’s_ the real poison.” 

“Wait. You’ve been to her room? Before the rest of us??” 

Goro snapped to full attention, ignoring his shaking hands. “What.” 

Amamiya fought back a smirk that rivaled the great Arsène Lupin’s– “Yeah. _You_ were invited in. You. Not me, not Ryuji, and most definitely not Yusuke or the others.” 

“What about Morgana?” 

“He doesn’t count.” Amamiya leaned on the counter, almost dangerously close to Goro’s face– “He’s a _cat._ ” 

Goro gulped down what remained of his drink. Of course Amamiya would dangle the dangerous truth in front of him like catnip, and of course Amamiya would enjoy such an impossible scenario. To expect any other response would be dangerous, if not outright foolish. 

“Hey,” Amamiya called, reaching out to grip Goro’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. We made a deal, didn’t we?” 

Goro suppressed an eye roll, or at least – he tried to suppress such an emotion. Whether or not he succeeded, he couldn’t tell.

“That would be my cue to deliver,” Goro said after a moment, pulling psychology papers out of his briefcase and setting them on the table. “This was all I could uncover about Maruki’s history. Given the journals, he was a rising star– someone must have come between him and his funding. Perhaps he was cut off rather hastily?” 

“I’ll read them before I go to bed.” Amamiya’s expression softened. “I was still talking about Haru, you know. No matter what you say, I think you like her, and it might actually be mutual. She _invited you home_. I haven’t even been in her bedroom, and I’ve known her longer.” 

Goro sighed. So he couldn’t break free from such a conversation, no matter how much he desired otherwise… “As it stands, Haru-san has no free will. I’ll be surprised if she remembers anything from this fool’s paradise.” 

“You’re not giving her enough credit,” Amamiya murmured, rummaging around the counter for a couple of biscotti. He handed one almond-flavored one to Goro, setting it down on an empty saucer. “She’s stronger than you think.” 

Goro shot Amamiya a wry look. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? She’s _too_ strong, Amamiya. You all take advantage of her big, giant heart.” 

Amamiya’s smile was mysterious– “Maybe, but you’re the only one who seems to think so.” 

Breaking the almond biscotti in half, Goro took a bite. It was hard and crunchy, with a faint hint of sugar. Not too sweet– and a perfect accompaniment to Amamiya’s coffee. They didn’t bake these in-house; Amamiya must’ve bought them from a nearby cafe. Or at the very least, the grocery store down the street.

“So… what do we do now?” 

“What we’ve been doing all along,” Amamiya reassured him. “Tomorrow, we’ll infiltrate Maruki’s palace and rescue Sumire.” 

Goro shot him a dirty look. “About Haru-san.” 

“I talked to her yesterday. I reached out to her, but she’s the only one who can face the truth. I just have to believe in her.” Amamiya leaned forward, brushing back some stray hairs from Goro’s face. “Considering what you’ve told me, you might have better luck getting through to her.”

“Yeah, but she likes _you_. A big, fat, ‘lovesick’ crush, I think you said?” 

Amamiya held up a couple of fingers. He then opened his mouth, only to close it, before trying to open it again– “What.” 

“So much for being a great Phantom Thief,” Goro scoffed, fighting back a laugh as he rose to his feet. “Can’t even tell when a girl likes him.” 

“Neither could you, apparently!!” Amamiya waved the crumbling biscotti around in the air as if it were a sword, or at least a biscotti-shaped weapon– “The woman invited you _into her bedroom_. If that’s a sign, I don’t know what is.” 

Goro shook his head. “She’s just projecting her feelings onto me. I can’t trust whatever she says in this state.”

“Because you can’t, or you don’t want to?”

Goro shot the fool a withering, almost pitiful look– “What do you think?”

“Iiiiii think that you’re afraid that she actually likes you like that, and that you’re running away from anything remotely resembling happiness.” Amamiya shrugged. “Haru knows what you’re capable of, even when she’s like this. I wouldn’t underestimate her.” 

No wonder Maruki liked this idiot– they both tried to grasp people in front of them, and revealed far more about their world than others would have liked. Goro wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank Amamiya, or punch him right in the jaw. Maybe even both.

“Maybe, but the choice is ultimately hers to make.”

Amamiya bit on his lip to keep from laughing– “I think this world’s changed you, just a little.”

“Oh, as if you haven’t changed? Look at you, being a regular therapist.”

Amamiya scrunched up his whole face in disgust. “No.” 

Goro snorted, despite his survival instincts screaming to do almost anything else in the universe– “I think you _like_ counseling sessions, Dr. Amamiya. You thrive on finding the good in people, even when they don’t deserve it.”

Amamiya shook his head as he finally took the first sip of his drink. “You deserve it more than you think, Akechi.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Goro scoffed, rising to his feet and heading towards the door. “Give it enough time, and you might actually believe it.”

Amamiya looked almost wistful. “It’s nice to pretend sometimes, though. That we’re just regular kids, gossiping about the girls we like and worrying if we’ll get into college…”

Goro wrinkled his nose. “That ship has long since sailed.”

“Doesn’t make it any less fun. We have to find the normalcy in whatever we can, right?”

“Or you could just be like me and block it all out. Get yourself a Ph.D. in Maruki and his bullshit. See how far you get before you realize you’ve ignored everything in favor of what, meaningless bullshit?” Goro reached for the door handle, opening the door and cringing at the sudden burst of cold, chilly air– “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amamiya.”

As Amamiya watched him leave, Goro couldn’t help sneaking another look at his phone– and at the rapid-fire string of texts Haru had left him earlier in the day. These were all sent around early afternoon; perhaps when she had last seen Amamiya?

 _ **”I’m sorry. I feel like I’m forgetting something important. I don’t know what, and it’s starting to feel wrong. It was important to you, though, wasn't it?”**_

Goro’s stomach sank. If she had said such a thing a few days ago, maybe he would have flung the callous truth in her face – or maybe he would’ve left her to figure out the pieces on her own. As it stood, they were in too deep. No such disentanglement was possible anymore. He really was an utter fool, falling for someone completely out of his reach– and by his own doing, no less.

He hesitated, for the briefest of seconds, before sending back– 

“ _You have nothing to apologize for. You've forgotten something important to both of us. Yourself more than me, if I'm being honest. But your kindness is your biggest strength, Haru-san. You fight for what you believe in, even when the rest of the world is upside down._

 _Go with your instincts. I believe you’ll find the truth you’re looking for soon enough._ ”

Her reply was immediate:

**_thank you so much, Goro-kun. ♥ I haven't told anyone else about these feelings, tbh, but I knew I could trust you. You're always so honest with me._ **

Goro almost crushed his phone at the sight. If he and Amamiya didn't beat up Maruki tomorrow, well - Haru just might beat him to that first punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick notes; first, my partner for this event was the absolute sweetheart [Dol](https://twitter.com/coffeefee_uwu)! Please follow her on twitter if you're not already - she was so much fun to work with, and so very talented! I've embedded the image into the fic proper, but at a smaller size so please look at the full image and the details!! I was blown away by her work. 
> 
> Second, [Pubmed](https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/) is a free search engine run by the US National Library of Medicine at the National Institutes of Health; it's primarily used as a database for biomedical scientific journal articles and the like! I didn't want to assume everyone's used it, but it is an invaluable resource, especially if you're in healthcare and/or healthcare adjacent-fields. Given Maruki's (former) clout, he absolutely would've shown up here in-universe.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are especially loved! I know I've been slow (and if you're eagle-eyed, that the chapters keep increasing), but your commentary has been so wonderful. Thank you all for everything ;;


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